the city was my home.
I loved it all: the bright lights, the endless noise, the chaos.
it was constant; the fact that the view of my apartment made sure that I'd always see the three o'clock rush, or that I'd notice that at seven twenty in the morning the woman with the big hat would walk by with her dog, or the pretzel vendor would stroll by every day just after noon.
or that there were be defiant rapping on my window at seven o'clock sharp.
he was never late; he made sure of that. most days he would show up still wearing his cap and uniform with a stack of papers tucked under his arm, but it didn't matter cause he made sure to always arrive with just seconds to go.
he always had the same goofy grin on his face, the same laugh and positive attitude, even when it was clear that he was exhausted from working.
he would show up even when the rain was pouring down and his hands were stained black with ink from the soggy articles. he would show up even when the wind was nearly knocking him over, blowing away his cap and exposing his messy brown hair that he tried so hard to hide.
I would usher him inside and give him a blanket, give him some tea, take his shoes and let him lay down on the couch in the front room. I would watch as his breathing slowed and as he drifted off into a mild sleep to the sound of raindrops on the window pane and angry traffic in the distance.
when he woke up a short while later, he'd peer at me through drowsy emerald eyes. he would gently take my hand and trace the scattered lines on my palm. he would tell me about his day and then ask about mine, always interested in what was happening in my life, even if not much had changed since the previous day.
we would stay there for what felt like forever, curled up close and comfortable as if we were little kids again. we would recall the past and all of the nostalgia that came with it. we would promise that no matter what, we would always have each other to turn to.
then the clock would strike ten o'clock, and he would have to leave.
day after day, month after month, year after year, he visited. and every day his smile would still set my heart on fire and his touch would send chills through my body. every day he would brush his thumb across my cheek and say "keep your head up, kid."
and for him, I did.
when I received the news, I was devastated.
I was going to have to move. to pack up my things, get on a train, and leave the city that I loved so much. to walk away and never look back at the noise or the chaos or the paper boy with the messy brown hair.
when he came at seven o'clock that day, it was raining outside. water dripped from the brim of his cap and ran down the front of his face, mirroring the tears that left small traces on my own cheeks. he came inside and sat down in his soaked clothes, pulling me close.
I told him the news. that I was leaving and I didn't know if I would ever be able to come back. that I didn't want to leave, and I didn't want to forget. that I didn't know what I was going to do without him.
for a while, we just sat there in the silence, unsure of what to so or what to say.
then finally, he took a deep breath, and to my surprise gave one of his smiles that instantly caused my heart to jump even when I then felt like the world was falling apart. "you'll be alright," he told me. "distance is just the number of miles between two people. space is just the amount of room we are both sharing, even if we aren't that close. location is just where you're standing. but it's not where you are. as long as I am thinking of you, and you are thinking of me, we will always be together."
he reached up and used his thumb to brush a single tear off of my cheek. "keep your head up, kid." he took the dripping cap off of his head and placed it in my hands. it was then that the clock rang out ten slow and haunting chimes.
he placed a gentle kiss on my forehead and then stood. without another word, he walked towards the window and carefully stepped outside.
that was the last time I saw the paper boy.
I don't live in a city anymore. I live in the countryside in a place far away from where I grew up. I can rarely hear one car pass by from outside and there's no flashing billboards or city lights, just the sight of fireflies blinking as they fly through the empty night.
at seven o'clock every night, I go out on my back porch and sit on the swinging bench that I had installed shortly after I moved. I place a worn cap on the bench next to me and sit in silence, looking out at the setting sun and letting my thoughts go to a familiar place as they always do at this time.
tonight, I make myself a cup of hot tea and I'm careful not to spill it on my way outside. after opening the door I blow in frustration to try and move a stray piece of blonde hair out of my eyes, but my attempt is ineffective. setting down the tea on the arm of the bench, I shut the back door and then tuck the piece of hair behind my ear. as I do so, I hear something move behind me. in alarm I spin around, knocking the cup of tea to the ground and as the glass shatters on the floor, I gasp.
"I know that I'm late, but really did try my best to be here on time."
it's him. the paper boy with the charming emerald eyes and the smile that has always been contagious. his hair is still brown but no longer messy. instead of rain soaked day clothes, he wears a dark suit and nice shoes, an appearance very different to the one he held years ago. but there can be no doubt that it's him.
I run forward and throw my arms around his neck, not even able to express the happiness and relief that's flooding through me this very moment. taking note of how I feel, I make a realization.
my connection to the past never had to do with my love for the city or the fact that I was raised there.
because now, being held in his embrace, at last I feel at home again.